Wrath of the Usurper (The Eoriel Saga Book 2)

by Kal Spriggs

  “Thank you,” Kerrel said, somewhat sourly. Under other circumstances she would have loved to do so, but tonight she had to make preparations for the woman joining her column. It would play havoc with their intended schedule and resupply along the way. In addition to that, she would have to speak with Baran and Jonal as soon as possible, so that they both would have time to find out as much as they could about Miss Halyna Kail. I somehow doubt I will have time for a relaxing crawl through some old books, she thought darkly.

  ***

  Commander Kerrel Flamehair

  Kerrel rubbed at dry, tired eyes as she brought Nightwhisper alongside Baran's mount. “Well, what have you got for me?”

  Her second in command grimaced. “Erebor's section is lagging a bit today, I think I'll need to have a word with him about restraint. Seems they enjoyed themselves too much. Sergeant Lamar says our supplies will take us to Parker without issue, but we hadn't planned to bed down there, so we'll need to restock.”

  Kerrel gave him a level look, “I meant, what have you got for me about Miss Kail?”

  Baran took the time to pull his canteen out and rinse his mouth before he spat to clear some of the dust out of his throat. “Not a lot, my Lady. That in itself bothers me. It means either there's not much to tell or that no one is brave enough to be telling it.”

  Kerrel nodded at that, not that she was terribly surprised. She knew the basics herself: Hector was the illegitimate son of Lord Mihkel, the old Duke Peter's younger brother. That didn't make him particularly unique, Lord Mihkel had spread his seed far and wide and rumors had it that many fathers had hid their daughters away when he visited. What had been unique was that Duke Peter had taken an interest in the boy, presumably because his mother, Miss Halyna, was the illegitimate and unacknowledged daughter of the old Baron of Longhaven, half sister to the man that Hector had killed to take that title. Good riddance, she thought, from what I heard of Baron Estrel, he very nearly bankrupted the wealthiest barony in the Duchy. In a more perfect world, someone as capable and intelligent as Halyna would have taken that title rather than the late, unlamented Baron Estrel. Hector's murder of his 'cousin' had provoked the wrath of Duke Peter, not over the policy, but over the method, for Hector had been sent there to fix things, not to murder his own kin.

  Hector had then turned against the Duke, in part to avoid the executioner's blade, but in part because he thought he could do a better job. Kerrel couldn't say whether he was right or wrong, but she knew that the repercussions included the unrest they faced here in the south.

  None of that told her much of Halyna herself, though, only about the man she had raised. The fact that no one dared to speak much about her suggested she had more influence than Kerrel had expected, even for the mother of the current Duke of Masov. Kerrel looked over at Baran and raised an eyebrow, “Tell me you got something at least?”

  “She works herself hard,” Baran said. “She came out of her offices this morning rather than her bed-chambers and one of the men saw servants bring her breakfast and a change of clothes there as well.” He took another sip of water, “The only luck I had, myself, was confirming that she was never officially recognized as the old Baron Anton's daughter... but he had put her and her mother up there in Longhaven for several cycles. There's property records from the archive with her and her mother's name on them. I imagine that was quite the scandal, especially given the fact that his wife was thought to be barren until she gave birth to his son, Estrel.”

  “You think he was grooming her to be his heir?” Kerrel asked. That was interesting, and it might well suggest some of the animosity that Hector and the old Baron Estrel might have felt for one another. It wasn't uncommon that when a nobleman lacked a proper heir that they would recognize one of their bastards in order to continue the bloodline.

  “Maybe. When Baron Anton died, the property was seized and they were turned out. No mention of her until she was welcomed to Duke Peter's court, five cycles later and then a birth registration for Lord Hector, with Miss Halyna as the mother and,” Baran coughed politely, “no father listed.”

  “Evidently, being comely and attractive to noblemen runs in the family,” Kerrel said dryly. Still, if she'd been trained up by the old Baron Anton to be his heir, she would have a better than average education, even for a noblewoman. Longhaven was considerably more progressive than the rest of the Duchy and it wasn't beyond reason that she had received more attention than most noblewomen would as far as preparing her to rule. That preparation might have enabled her to not only seduce Lord Mihkel, but also to then leverage that pregnancy in a way that less fortunate women hadn't.

  “Well, after Lord Mihkel died in a hunting accident...”

  “Fell off his horse drunk is the general story,” Jonal said dryly. Kerrel looked over to see that her cousin had rode up behind them, close enough to overhear. He looked as tired as she felt, though she saw he had the energy to be humorous.

  “...Lord Hector was officially recognized by Duke Peter as a 'cousin' and...”

  “Which is a polite way of saying that someone was naughty but we don't want to shame the dead,” Jonal interrupted again.

  “...started him training with the Duke's Hound.” Baran finished doggedly. “Both of those suggest that Miss Kail had some pull, even with her lover dead.”

  Kerrel frowned, “No, the timing isn't right. It sounds more like she had even more pull after he died. Maybe he opposed recognizing Hector as his own for some reason?”

  Baran shrugged, “Either way, Miss Kail stayed on at court since then. There was a brief departure, when she accompanied Duke Peter's envoy to Boir and then to Asador and down to Marovingia, but that was one of the few exceptions.”

  “Who was the envoy?” Kerrel asked. Perhaps the woman had developed some other paramour?

  “The old Baron of Zielona Gora, who was killed when Lord Hector seized power,” Jonal said. “I looked that one up myself. It's a dead end as far as relationships go, he was happily married and had two sons not long after his return.”

  “So she had some support,” Kerrel said, “but now she seems to be running things herself.” It wasn't much to go on, but it was enough to make Kerrel wonder if Halyna had plotted her son's rise to power. It wasn't inconceivable that she might have maneuvered him into a position to kill her half brother. That he had then been forced to kill Duke Peter was a logical progression, especially if she knew her son well enough. This is a dangerous woman, she thought, so it doesn't hurt to overestimate her a bit. “Right,” she said. “Good work.” All this maneuvering made her head hurt and Kerrel, not for the first time, wished she didn't have to worry so much about the actions and intentions of her own allies. “Well, since we've a bit more time than we expected, I want you two to both find out what you can about the south, unofficially.”

  “We've read the reports, Commander,” Jonal said, his face puzzled.

  “Yes,” Kerrel nodded. “Reports sent by Covle Darkbit. A man who betrayed one Duke already and has far more ambition than he does ethics.” Hector had told her that the man was a disgraced Ducal Guardsman, another unacknowledged bastard who came from a well-born family. Hector ordered Covle Darkbit's to capture Duke Peter's daughter, she thought, and Hector's mentioned the man wanted to wed her in order to rise in stature. She felt a sudden, dark suspicion that Covle's earlier 'failures' to do so had been intentional, in order to ensure he had some leverage to use against Hector when it came down to it. “I don't trust Covle,” Kerrel said quietly, “Hector might, but that doesn't mean we need to do so. I certainly don't trust Grel.”

  “Rasev Ironhelm is still down here,” Baran said. “I could talk with him, if we get time.”

  Kerrel nodded. They had worked with Rasev Ironhelm and his company before and the man was known to be solid and practical... though a bit too willing to follow orders without question for Kerrel's tastes. He was also loyal to the coin that paid him and his pay came from Lord Hector, not Covle Darkbit. “Good idea. Find
out what you can from him. Jonal, your job is to do some drinking with those other mercenaries who have the time for it. Parker has a small garrison, we'll find out what we can there before we move on to Lower Debber.” Traditionally, Zielona Gora was the central seat to the southern part of the Duchy of Masov, but Covle Darkbit, upon being appointed Commander of the South, had made Lower Debber his seat. The town had originally been considered a freehold town, one which elected it's leadership who then reported to the Duke. Covle had disbanded that, however, and taken charge directly.

  Always a warm and friendly sort, Covle, Kerrel thought darkly, so eager to get along with everyone. Things had been bad enough in the south when her company had rode north to join Hector's fight against the Armen. She hated to imagine how much worse it might have become with the addition of a leader around whom the general unrest could focus. She shot a glance over her shoulder at where the carriage rode near the middle of her column. “The real question, of course, is whether Miss Kail will make things better or worse,” she said.

  ***

  Chapter Five

  Lord Admiral Christoffer Tarken

  Aboard the Ubelfurst, Boirton Harbor

  1st of Martaan, Cycle 1000 Post Sundering

  Lord Admiral Christoffer Tarken stood near the bulwark as the Ubelfurst finally sailed home. The crowds that lined the docks and the cheers were nice, he could admit, but what brought tears to his eyes were the way his sailors and Marines stood tall, their faces beamed with pride, as they guided the Ubelfurst, the Admiral Kommanetz, and the Donnerkinder into the docks. The three huge ships, along with the Mircea, were the only survivors of the fleet that had sailed north seven months previously. Other than the Ubelfurst, all fifteen ships of the Northern Fleet had been captured or destroyed. Along the way, the crew of the Ubelfurst had recaptured three of her sister ships and sent thousands of Armen and their Noric allies to their deaths.

  It was a hard fought victory, Christoffer knew, and he saw that in the scars on the men and the damage to the ships. He saw it also in the mix of additional crew they had signed on, with the darker colors of freed Armen slave women and a mix of freed Noric slave-galley rowers that included dusky-skinned Armen, pale skinned Norics, tanned men of the Five Duchies, and even a few caramel-skinned Vendakar. He felt it in his own heart, knowing that his oldest son, Gustav, would rest with the spirits of his ancestors along with seventy five of the Ubelfurst's crew and over three thousand other sailors and Marines from the Northern Fleet.

  My fleet, he reminded himself, my duty... and my responsibility. Though communications with the Admiralty had been limited thus far, they had to blame him for his failures. If he had shipped out with the rest of the fleet maybe he could have stopped the magic-backed ambush that had allowed the Armen to board the other ships of the Northern Fleet. If he had only foreseen that method of attack or if he had been present to rally his people, then perhaps he could have saved them.

  He did not allow a bit of his pride to show on his face as the ship came in to the dock, but neither did he allow any of his sorrow. He would face whatever judgment that the Duke's Council or the Admiralty laid upon him for his failures and he would not ask for leniency against any punishments they levied.

  As the ship finally came to rest lightly against the reed bumpers alongside the Navy pier, Christoffer gave a crisp nod to Captain Elias Wachter, “Fine ship handling, Captain, and a damned fine crew.”

  Captain Elias stood a bit taller and gave a crisp salute, “It has been a pleasure, sir.”

  Christoffer returned the salute. He looked over the ship one last time. He felt some temptation to tell the men how much he appreciated their service, but he doubted anything he said would be heard over the roar of the crowd along the pier. Still, he saw them stand tall at those cheers and he hoped that some of what he said to Elias would filter down to the crew as well. They were heroes, all of them, for they had done the impossible and sailed home to tell about it.

  “Sir,” Midshipman Dunnis called from the Quarterdeck, “There's an escort of Marines here to take you up to the Citadel.” He managed to suggest that he felt insulted that 'his' Marines weren't judged fit for the task with the tone of his voice, even over the roar of the crowds.

  “Very well,” Christoffer said. He felt more than a bit of anxiety as he looked around the ship, perhaps his last command. He gave Captain Elias a nod and moved down the steps to the Quarterdeck. He saw Siara Pall near the gangway, her face unreadable. She snapped off a crisp salute as he passed, which he returned, sharply. “Fair winds and following seas, Miss Pall.”

  “Until we meet again, Admiral,” she said. The Armen-born woman, who would be considered nobility if raised under his own culture, wore her simple sailor's uniform with pride and without blemish. The intelligence behind her dark eyes was just as sharp as ever and the serious expression on her face showed no sign of her emotions. As always, despite the baggy uniform, it was impossible to mistake her as anything other than an attractive woman and he once again chastised himself for the direction his thoughts went when he stared at her too long. She's a quarter of my age, he thought, and I have... had... children her age and older.

  As Christoffer started down the gangway, some of the rowdier members of the crowd clearly spotted the Armen woman. Their cheers turned into jeers as they leveled insults at her. Christoffer felt his face go stern as they bandied words such as 'whore' and 'slut.'

  “That is enough!” Tarken bellowed at them, his voice harsh enough to cut across the roar of the crowd. The roar dropped off as if like a receding tide, at first in surprise and then in interest. Christoffer didn't respect the mob mentality that drove them. He despised it. They should be governed by their intellect and not the base emotions that drove a crowd and he felt his anger boil over. “That woman there,” he pointed, “along with two dozen others, has served with pride and distinction while you lot cowered behind the walls and the men and women who defended this city.” He swept a cold gaze over the crowd and there were few that didn't look away or down at their feet under his icy blue-eyed gaze.

  “If you dare to judge her by her appearance. Know that she has bled and suffered in company with the finest crew that I have ever sailed with,” Christoffer Tarken snapped. “Know that she has defied her culture, defied her lot in life, and that it has been my pleasure to serve with her and those like her.” He felt his throat constrict a bit and took a deep breath to calm himself. “I would gladly tip my hat to any man or woman, wherever and whatever their birth, aboard any of these ships. I would take any one of them in service if I had to storm the very gates of hell over any thousand of you gathered here to cheer.”

  His words met with total silence. Christoffer could hear the screech of the gulls and the lapping of the water against the pier. And then the world seemed to go mad, the crowd surged forward against the line of soldiers and Marines who held the pier and they roared, “Tarken! Tarken! Tarken!”

  Christoffer shook his head in disgust and stormed down the gangplank to the waiting carriage. He returned the crisp salute of the Marine Lieutenant who awaited him. “Let's just get out of here before this becomes a riot,” Christoffer said, before the young man could speak.

  He climbed into the carriage and sat back. He stared forward and ignored the crowd as the carriage and its escort of mounted Marines rolled out. Ancestors weep, he thought, what a gathering of fools, at least I won't have to put up with such absurd hero worship when I face the Council.

  ***

  Lord Admiral Christoffer Tarken

  Christoffer paused outside the doors to the council chamber and took a moment to straighten his uniform. Nikolas had dressed him just before they made port and had taken the time to make it spotless, but he was sure that his Steward would have sniffed with disappointment at how his Admiral had mussed it in the ride to the Citidel.

  He nodded at the prefect outside the door, who opened it and spoke softly to someone just inside. A moment later the doors swung wide and the
aide who had opened them gestured at Christoffer to enter.

  As he did so, the aide announced him, “Ladies and gentlemen, Lord Admiral Christoffer Tarken.” Christoffer was surprised to see that most of the large chamber was full, with over two dozen assembled men and women. He recognized many by face, though he did not frequent their ranks as often as those of the Navy.

  The council chamber had not changed with its half-ring table with the chairs facing inward and the dome of glass windows above. The heavy wooden table was still crafted from the hulls of warships which had defended Boir and its merchant trade. The rough timbers that made it up still showed the stains from smoke and soot and the scars of battle in a tracery that was far finer, in Christoffer's opinion, than any filigree. For the first time he had ever seen, the Duke's seat was empty, a black cloth draped over it in mourning.

  He came to a stop and removed his hat, “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said softly, “I understand you have received my previous reports,” In fact, one of Baron Erich of Rothlim's aides had informed him of that just as he arrived, “and I am here to answer any further questions you have.” He paused. “I have also brought the Ducal Blade of Boir, recovered by Lady Katarina Emberhill from the ruins of the old fortress Southwatch, as I reported earlier.” He hoped that report had been kept secret, known only to the Council and senior members of the Admiralty, especially given what had happened when he drew the blade.

  His announcement was met with silence. Christoffer stood patiently while the Duke's Council stared at him. Finally, Baroness Diana of Verlische spoke, “May we see the blade?” She was the Minister of State and responsible for relations with the other Duchies, though more often she spent her time as the Duke's spymaster.

  Christoffer nodded, “Of course, my Lady.” He pulled it out of the canvas wrapping he'd carried it in and one of the aides came forward and took it from him as he lifted it up by its sheath. “I think it best to keep it quiet until the new Duke has been selected.”